Working Lunch: The Giants Break In the New Meadowlands Stadium

Since its inception, the new $1.6 billion Meadowlands stadium has been about making money. There are nine thousand three hundred “club” seats, compared to a hundred and forty-two in the old stadium, and nearly twice as many luxury suites. Three years before it opened its doors, the best suites were selling for a million dollars a year. Giants season ticketholders—my father among them—had to pay between a thousand and twenty thousand dollars just for the right to continue buying tickets in the new digs. And the team store inside is six times as big as the old one, to hock six times as much overpriced gear.

But on Tuesday, the Meadowlands was a free-for-all. Around ten thousand fans came out to watch the Giants’ first practice in the new stadium, at the cost of no more than providing their names and contact information online. (Jets fans get their turn today.) Even parking was free. Jersey-clad enthusiasts wandered through exclusive clubs that on game days will cost thousands of dollars to enter. They lined the field in cordoned-off areas that looked like they should have been reserved for winners of Z100 contests.

The Gridiron Club, which will offer sushi stations and martini bars, is accessed via a lobby better suited to a condo in Murray Hill than a sports center, complete with dizzying floor-to-ceiling mirrors and a concierge-like staff worker at the desk. The elevator bank has wood panelling and, of course, a large television, as do the elevators. In the club are low-slung ottomans in dark reds and browns, looking ready for models seeking bottle service. Glass doors take you to the outdoor seats, which are cushier than your typical stadium model but still out in the open where you can hear the crowd—unlike in those skyboxes, where it’s more like watching the game on TV, but with catering.

Tom McGowan and his son Liam, who drove in from their home in Philadelphia, were checking out the club seats. It was too hot for McGowan’s prized red and blue leather Giants jacket. “It’s the tackiest, ugliest thing you’ve ever seen,” he said. “I saw it on the Home Shopping Network and said, ‘I gotta buy that to bother the Eagles fans.’ ” McGowan, who helped build the new stadium as a construction worker, doesn’t mind the drive for games, but he says he won’t be a regular at the new stadium: “Season tickets just aren’t in the workingman’s budget, not this year.”

Even if its swank is edging out the workingman, the new stadium was a hit with all the fans I talked to. “It’s rich,” marvelled eight-year-old Anthony Owens, Jr., who got to skip school to come with his mother, Cheryl Meyers, who was a ticket-taker for Giants games in the eighties. But the players had a harder time adjusting. Domenik Hixon, a wide receiver, got tripped up in the new turf, took a spill, and hurt his right knee. Eli Manning is still figuring out the wind patterns, which he says are different here and will become an increasingly important factor in the colder games. “It did swirl on us here today,” Tom Coughlin said to reporters after practice.

Practice wrapped up at four-fifteen, having brought not only the first injury for the new stadium but also the first fight, between guard Rich Seubert and rookie defensive end Jason Pierre-Paul, and the first booing, of cornerback Aaron Ross for dropping a punt. And for me, the first of many gruelling waits for the bus back to Port Authority.

Here’s a slide show, with pictures by Chiara Marinai.

The new stadium towers over the remnants of the old. Less than six months after the Giants lost to the Carolina Panthers there, the old stadium already looks like a crumbling coliseum.

In the lobby that leads to the Gridiron Club, a staff worker is ready to help—so says his pin. That help might mean giving directions, doling out wristbands with seat information to children so they don’t get lost, or giving high fives, said Rick Simeonoglou, a guest services team leader. “If a Giant or a Jet scores a touchdown, and a guest wants to high five you, we want our staff to high five that guest,” he said. “Even if deep down he’s a Dallas fan.”

You’d never know you were in a football stadium from the bathrooms at the club level.

Kara Pinkman-Kelly, who works in premium services, told me I had to see the Commissioner Club—“You’re gonna die!” There’s enough mahogany, leather, and velvet to make any Trump feel at home, and the fireplaces have the gentle touch of bluish glass pebbles.

Alyssa Marino said she has about nine Kevin Boss signs, although from the way she giggled and refused to disclose the exact number, I’m guessing it’s more like twenty. Before showing up to open practices or games, she likes to send the tight end a Twitter message (@kevinbossman) letting him know which color sign she’s bringing. This is the original, and has his signature. (She also has his glove, which he gave her at training camp last summer, and a pair of his autographed cleats that she won in a contest.) Marino was confident that Boss had pointed her way when he hit the field. “He knows the sign,” she said.

Anthony Owens, Jr., and Liam McGowan, both eight, met here today. After chatting for a while, Owens called to his mother, “Mom, we’re friends!” “What’s his name?” she asked. He shrugged. “Keith?”

The HD replay boards are twice as big as in the old stadium.

There are eight hundred concession stands scattered throughout, compared to two hundred sixty in the old stadium. I took note of one stand I plan to frequent, which is entirely devoted to meatballs.

Justin Tuck and Eli Manning hung around to answer questions after practice. When Manning left the field, the reporters making a mad dash for Tuck nearly knocked over Chiara. Tuck said he’s looking forward to the home-field advantage from the strange wind patterns here. “Sometimes when you look up at the goal post, one goal post is blowing in and the other one was blowing in, too,” he said.